One Up
by Brievel
Summary: Kakka is back, and this time, she sets her sights on the Chancellor's aide, Sate Pestage. A strange twist of fate brings them very together in a way that perhaps even Palpatine could never have foreseen... Definitely a T!
1. Prep

Sate Pestage slowly swirled the excellent amber liquor before taking a swallow, setting the glass down on the wooden table with a hollow clunk and allowing his gaze to travel once more around the dim interior of the seedy establishment. Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out a few credit chips, which he tossed on the table as he rose. Halfway onto his feet he cursed under his breath and sank swiftly back down, ducking his head to avoid being seen by the woman – a term he used loosely – just entering the bar. What the Holonet sensationalist was doing in such a questionable business, he neither knew nor cared – all he wanted was out, and quickly, before she noticed him.

But very, very little escaped Kakka Freetaan's sharp eyes. Not for nothing was she the most feared reporter in the Senate. The obnoxious pink of her outfit only added insult to injury as she slid onto the bench across from Sate, so recently vacated by his spy. He eyed the offensive pink pouf of a skirt balefully, visualizing himself smothering her in it. Her greeting trill further scraped across his nerves, and he bared his teeth.

"Sate Pestage, illustrious aide to our beloved Chancellor!" Kakka, entirely unphased by his formidable snarl, beamed at him and leaned forward, clicking grossly pink nails at a nearby serving droid. "What a fount of information you must be, my dear. If only you can be convinced to share..." She trailed off with a wink, no doubt thinking her open sentence subtle and delicate. Sate doubted she knew the definitions of the terms.

"I'm a very busy man," he ground out, once again starting to stand. Fast as his master's lightning, the pink-clawed hand lashed out and latched onto his wrist. Only many years of practice suppressing assassin's instincts to avoid annihilating foolish Senators allowed said hand to remain attached to the wrist where it resided, but the look in steely brown eyes warned even the occasionally-dense blonde to let go quickly. Not that Freetaan was giving up, oh no.

She pouted up at the Chancellor's aide. "Now, Sate," she crooned. "There's not that big a rush, surely. You can stay and chat awhile." The pout dissolved into a sly smile, the likes of which had heralded many a scandalous tale. "Or maybe you have something to hide…?"

He ground his teeth, the damnable minx had him cornered. If he left, she would drag him through all kinds of entirely fictional affairs and cause no end of tangles Aloo would have to straighten out. On the other hand, if he stayed, she would embroil him in some unfortunately real web of her more physical devising and cause no end of tangles for Aloo. He slowly sank back down, glaring venomously at her and fantasizing about her inevitable sticky end. "What do you want to know?" he ground out irritably.

Her wicked smirk and even more wicked sparkling eyes had him cursing his choice of words seconds later. Kakka leaned in, trailing her fingers up his wrist, her voice a low purr. " _Everything_."

"Classified," Sate said shortly, pulling his hand back and waving the droid over again. He certainly wasn't dealing with Freetaan without any sort of consolation. "Same as before," he ordered as it approached. Without ever quite reaching the table it smoothly rotated and headed back up to the bar. The aide turned his attention back to the galactic blight sitting across from him. "You'll have to do better than that, Ms. Freetaan," he said coldly.

The droid came up with their drinks, placing them down. Kakka picked up her fruity affair, eyeing Pestage calculatingly. His employer was a tough nut to crack, for all the Chancellor's office vaunted clarity and freedom of the press, and she had no doubt that the Chancellor's top aide was as reticent as the politician he aided. Not as concerned with courtesy, either, she'd noticed during their few interactions. Rough and rude and devoted to the man he served… difficult indeed. Honestly at times the man reminded her more of a bounty hunter than a politician… hm. She smiled slyly, setting her drink down and leaning forward slightly. "One cannot help but wonder why the top aide to such an illustrious being would be…" she glanced around, " _here_. Official business, I wonder?"

Sate's eyes narrowed as he went on the offensive. "Same reason _you're_ here, I reckon," he drawled. "A drink."

Kakka settled into her seat with an eager little wiggle, leaning forward in nerve-grating anticipation, wearing a smarmy little smile. "A drink… and a dish. Tell me, why would such a high-ranking representative of our Chancellor's high office be in such a low-end establishment as this?"

Sate's eyes slid past her for a quarter of a second and he suppressed a smirk at the barkeeper's glare, directed right at the obnoxious pink-clad back. "Nobody can be on their best behavior all the time, Kakka," he replied caustically. "Sometimes I need a break."

Her greedy eyes lit up like an avaricious youngling spotting unattended candy. "You're right, nobody can behave all the time," she agreed breathily. "What can you tell us about His Excellency's… relaxation?"

"Nothing," he returned shortly, and polished off his shot in a swallow, beckoning for another one. "Classified."

The so-called reporter giggled and he gritted his teeth in self-defense. Kakka smirked at him slyly, running her fingertips up his arm again before adroitly grabbing the droid and to renew her own drink order. "What do you recommend?" she asked Sate whimsically.

An evil plot worthy of the Sith (almost) formed itself in his mind, and he promptly acted on it. "Whyren's Reserve," he replied, and gestured between them. "For both of us."

The droid mechanically turned its head towards him – not high-tech, some small detached part of his brain observed. "Yes, sir," it replied in a flat monotone. Very low tech, then, his droid-analyzer commented internally. Kakka released it and it went about its business professionally, if a bit flatly.

Sate watched it, opting to observe the Corellian whiskey being poured instead of engaging in painful conversation, could it even be called that. He could feel the freakish female's scheming gaze pinned on him, slowly raising his temper to boiling point. His glare at the droid sharpened and heated as he stewed over the predicament she'd landed him in, keeping him here, wasting his time…

When the server droid brought the drinks, the former assassin again drained his in one swallow, before watching hawkishly to ensure Kakka also drank hers. If he could get her drunk enough, he could sneak out…

Freetaan watched as Pestage emptied his glass in a single go, half-smiling. If she could only get him drunk enough to loosen those tight lips… well, she'd have hit the jackpot. He clunked his glass down and pinned her with an eerily fierce glare. She met his eyes evenly, lifting her own glass slightly in a toast. "Cheers," she remarked lightly, and swallowed the burning liquor all at once, suppressing an explosive cough, head bent. Pestage watched her intently, a trace of glee at his plan snaking through him. She lifted her head, meeting his durasteel-hard eyes with a truly diabolical look in her own, and grinned viciously. "An excellent recommendation," she remarked cheerfully.

Sate inclined his head, grudgingly respectful of her ability to play his game. "You must be used to it," he suggested dryly.

She rolled the shot glass on its bottom edge with one finger, carefully careless. "It's not so bad as all that," she lied smoothly, and shot him a cunning glance from underneath her outrageously curled and mascaraed eyelashes. "You certainly seem to know how to hold your alcohol, however."

Sate smirked broadly at her. He was a former assassin, this was his scene. Of course he could hold his drink. "Maybe you'd better just bring the bottle," he said smoothly to the droid.

"Of course, sir," it replied, not even blinking a photoreceptor. Sate turned back to his blonde nemesis, who returned his sadistic smile blandly.

"A contest," he proposed. Kakka's eyes flickered, betraying her interest.

"A contest?" she echoed. "How… intriguing."

Sate didn't bother to elaborate verbally, instead taking the bottle of Corellian whiskey from the droid and setting it firmly down in the middle of the table, shoving a clean shot glass at the journalist before scooping one towards himself. Kakka watched his preparations, a sharp gleam in her eye as she realized his intent. A small part of her was nervous – he clearly had grounds to believe he could out-drink her, but overall she was confident – she knew her limits were farther than most beings would suspect, and she had a distinct advantage over him in that her first drink had been light and she'd had considerably less alcohol than the already slightly tipsy Senatorial aide. All she had to do was outlast him…

Blue eyes met brown as he poured the shots, two equally dangerous smiles on the competitors' faces. Neither broke eye contact as each lifted their glass, watching intently for any cheating. Each held the other's gaze right up to the last second, as each upended their glass, swallowing the entirety of the contents. The game had begun.

* * *

 **Yeah, so apparently this is going to end up at least a two-shot. It was only supposed to be an one-shot, but neither Kakka nor Sate cooperated (I should probably not go around alienating everyone I meet in that galaxy...) [Grammar question: would that be "a one-shot"? An one doesn't sound right, since one starts with a "w" sound, but spelling dictates "an" not "a" there...]  
**

 **So, this started out as a threat to DarthRuinous, in a vain bid to keep her from writing a story with which she was threatening me, but after I became intrigued by the plot bunny I gave up on preventing her and just went ahead and wrote this. The actual plot bunny comes in the _next_ chapter, go figure. This was all rather elaborate prep - and difficult it was, too! Sate does not care for being compromised...  
**


	2. Culmination

An hour later, neither homicidal aide nor tenacious sensationalist had given an inch. Pestage had never hated Freetaan so much, and yet he found himself rather incredulously admiring her. She'd held out much better than he had expected, and while he was not yet worried, he could've confessed himself surprised. His speculative gaze dropped to the two shot glasses sitting in front of him, and he found himself wondering idly which one he was supposed to drink next.

Kakka relaxed in her oddly comfortable seat, appraising the so-called aide sprawled across from her. She had never seen anyone from the Chancellor's office so relaxed in her presence before. Sate Pestage was, she reflected vaguely, actually rather attractive, when his glare and scowl weren't directed at her. She smiled, getting an idea, and kicked off one of her spike-heeled shoes beneath the table, reaching out with her foot.

Sate jerked upright, his attention snapping onto the woman across from him as he felt a soft touch trail up his leg beneath the table. Kakka gave him a suggestive smile, still entirely at her ease. "I don't feel that this conversation has been entirely illuminating," she remarked in a low, sultry tone. Sate blinked, trying to clear his head and his vision, but his eyes fastened on a stray curl of her hair with curious fascination. He blinked again, her voice washing over him. "Perhaps we should go somewhere more… private?"

His eyes followed the curl back to her face, and he found himself smiling, not altogether opposed to the idea. "Sure," he replied rather dangerously, standing. He glanced down at the table top, noting with pleased satisfaction that he remained quite steady on his feet. Kakka claimed his attention once again as she slid around the table and into his personal space, trailing a hand down his cheek. Her eyes smirked up at him.

"I know just the place," she murmured, eyes gleaming. Seizing his hand, she carelessly threw down a large handful of credits on the table and all but dragged him from the bar. Aggression pounded through him, sparked by her obvious enthusiasm, and he slammed her against the wall outside, kissing her ruthlessly.

Chirrel sat upright abruptly from where he'd been lounging, gawping at the scene playing out before his very eyes. Gathering his wits quickly, he grinned broadly and snapped a picture of Chancellor Palpatine's top aide violently making out with the HoloNet's top reporter of all things scandalous. Checking the camera, he chortled softly, unable to contain his glee.

Coincidentally, but all unaware of her cameraman's actions, Kakka pulled breathlessly from the embrace to stare, mesmerized, up at Sate. "Not here," she breathed, running her hand down his side to his waistband and tugging. "Come on." The place she had in mind wasn't far, and the proprietor knew her well, he would ask no questions. Pestage allowed himself to be led to the seedy little hotel and dragged into a room near the dim cramped lobby.

Once inside, with the door locked, Freetaan turned on him with the intent of a nexu and a lascivious look. He smirked back, before moving with all the speed of all his training to once again slam her into the door, thin lips locking onto her full ones with all the hunger of an unsated predator. Slim expert hands slid down his sides to his pants again, as he leaned in further still…

* * *

"What the kriff?" Quest yelped, stopping short in the doorway and staring. Pestage came awake with an even fouler curse, jumping and automatically yanking the grubby blanket up higher. Kakka jerked, eyes flying open before landing in marked interest on the newcomer, now leaning against the door frame and grinning maliciously in. Sate looked around, the pounding headache and his surroundings – as well as his current state of dress, or lack thereof, reminding him graphically of the previous night's events.

He directed a truly terrifying glare at the sniggering agent. "If you breathe a single word of this..." he muttered menacingly, sliding out of the shoddy bed and grabbing his pants viciously from the pile on the floor.

Quest grinned back evilly, not at all intimidated, not twitching from his slouch. Kakka also rose from the dubious nest, sashaying forward without even a glance at the froth of pink on the floor. "Hello, handsome," she murmured, running her fingertips along Sarcev's jaw. Quest's eyes widened, and Pestage froze mid-attiring, pinning his attention to the just-starting drama with rather startled interest.

* * *

 **Yes, this is the end. I'm so, so sorry I ever wrote this. Please purge it from your mind and forget about its very existence. But... a milestone of sorts, the first of this type I've written! And quite possibly the last...  
**


End file.
